


Tim Drake Gets a Birthday

by Sleepyhollow_101



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson is the human embodiment of a golden retriever, Gen, How is that not a tag yet?, Protective Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepyhollow_101/pseuds/Sleepyhollow_101
Summary: Tim Drake is Batman's newest Robin. He may not be Bruce's son, but he still deserves some recognition on his birthday, right? As long as he's not too busy celebrating with his parents.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 30
Kudos: 572





	Tim Drake Gets a Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> This is only my second work in this fandom so constructive criticism is appreciated! Bruce may be a little too OOC in here, but Good Batdad is my favorite. Also may not be totally canon compliant. Hope you all enjoy. Happy Birthday, Tim Drake!

It had been a few months since Timothy Drake had become a reluctant Batman’s Robin.

Bruce Wayne had not been pleased with this development, but that was no secret. At first, he had done everything in his power to drive Tim away. Wallowing in his grief was a solitary activity, and having Tim around made it difficult, to say the least. He couldn’t be responsible for another child – hell, hadn’t he already proven that?

And every time he turned around and caught a flash of dark hair, for a moment, he would think… and then he would remember all over again.

Simply put, he hated Tim Drake.

At least, he did at first. And it wasn’t fair, but it was the truth. As the days wore on into weeks, however, he had to grudgingly accept that Tim was a talented, bright young man – he excelled as Robin. He didn’t deserve it – he deserved so much _more_ than Bruce Wayne as his mentor. But Tim didn’t see things that way. Tim and Bruce rarely saw eye-to-eye.

Maybe that’s what began to endear Tim to Bruce. The way he supported Batman by pushing back on his decisions and opinions, offering something in its stead for Batman to consider. It was almost like sparring, the way they danced around each other on cases, an exchange of intellect taking the place of exchanging blows.

Gradually, Bruce began to tolerate Tim. And then, he found himself growing… fond.

By the time July rolled around, Bruce had begun to genuinely enjoy having Tim around most days. Which was good, because Tim was around quite frequently now that summer had arrived and he didn’t have school.

However, he still spent his nights at home – unless he was seriously injured, in which case Alfred would practically force him to spend the night in one of the guest bedrooms. Otherwise, Tim was content to walk home in the early hours of the morning after patrol.

It made Bruce feel sort of… twitchy. A strange discomfort inside his own skin. He’d rather have Tim where he could check on him. And although Tim had parents, those parents didn’t know what he’d been up to – they wouldn’t think to check if he had a concussion. They wouldn’t know what to do if he suddenly became sick due to some as-yet-undetected toxin in his veins, or, or…

Bruce tried not to think about those things.

And he kept trying not to think of those things right up until July 19th.

He’d happened upon the information by accident a few days earlier. He’d been updating Tim’s medical file – a nasty fight with Two-Face had left him with a deep scar on his upper left arm, and Bruce counted scars like other people count blessings. His eyes zeroed in on Tim’s birthdate, entered into the upper left field of the digital form.

_Tim’s birthday is in three days,_ he thought to himself.

On Dick’s first birthday as Robin, they’d gone to a Knights game – the Knights had lost terribly, but they’d still enjoyed themselves. After the game, they’d gone out for ice cream sundaes, and Dick had eaten so much ice cream that he spent half the night with his face hanging over a toilet bowl.

On Jason’s first birthday as Robin, they’d gone to the zoo. Jason had always wanted to go, but had never gotten the chance. He spent a full half an hour watching the monkeys with a look of pure awe on his face. He’d even let Bruce buy him a small capuchin monkey toy. He kept it on a bookshelf in his room, making sure it remained in pristine condition.

It was probably still there. Bruce couldn’t know for sure – he hadn’t stepped in that room since…

Well.

This would be Tim’s first birthday as Robin, and although he wasn’t Bruce’s kid, he was Batman’s Robin. And that deserved something, didn’t it?

Bruce thought and he thought and he thought. There wasn’t much he could do for Tim’s birthday, he decided. After all, it wouldn’t do to be seen in public with someone else’s child and no explanation as to why they were together. But perhaps something at the Manor. Cake – Alfred would know Tim’s favorite kind of cake. Alfred knew everything that went on in the Manor.

As Bruce was mulling over his idea, during a long and boring stakeout, Tim had nattered on about a new camera lens that he had his eye on – an expensive, high quality one. Bruce didn’t know much about cameras, but he made a mental note of the type of lens. It would be alright to get Tim a present, wouldn’t it? It was the least he could do, considering how well Tim had done as Robin.

And what an uphill battle it had been, considering that Bruce had been… less than welcoming for most of Tim’s career thus far.

With a plan set firmly in place, he made the arrangements. Alfred was only too happy to facilitate.

On July 18th, after patrol had ended, he stopped Tim on his way out the Manor door.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

Tim shrugged, his backpack nearly falling off his shoulders. Skinny – Tim was too skinny. A little cake might help. And more of Alfred’s cooking. What was the kid eating at home, anyway? “Nothing, really. Why?”

Bruce cleared his throat as he tried to think of a way to phrase his… request? Offer? Would Tim even want to come to the Manor tomorrow? He probably had plans with his family and friends. Why would he want to spend that day with _Bruce,_ of all people?

As the silence stretched on and Tim’s eyebrow quirked, Bruce pushed the words out in a rush: “It’s your birthday. I was wondering if you’d like to come to the Manor. After your celebrations.”

“Oh.” Tim’s eyes flicked to the side for just a moment. That piqued Bruce’s interest – Tim only did that when he was nervous or agitated. “Would you like me to come early for patrol? Do you need my help on a case?”

Bruce frowned. “No, I meant – well. As a celebration. If you would like.”

Tim’s mouth parted and his eyes widened. He stared at Bruce in total disbelief for a moment. Then, he seemed to come back to himself. He smiled – a great, wide smile – and said, “I’d love to! That would be great.”

“Hn. What time will you be available?”

“I…” Tim hesitated, his eyes flicking again. Interesting. “How about after seven? I should be free by then.”

“That’s good.” Bruce cleared his throat again, suddenly feeling embarrassed. But Tim didn’t seem to notice. He looked happy. Actually, he looked ecstatic. “Well, then. Off you go, now. Be careful on your way home.”

“Thanks, B!” called Tim as he jogged out the front door. Bruce watched him go until he vanished into the darkness, and then shut the door softly in his wake.

He felt something growing in the back of his brain. Like moss or mildew, taking over his thoughts and giving voice to a nagging suspicion that had lain dormant in his mind for weeks.

Turning on his heel, he went back to his study for the night. He had a few inquiries to make.

* * *

July 19th.

Tim’s birthday.

In the morning, Bruce sent a text to Tim. “Happy Birthday,” followed by a present emoji, a cake emoji, and a confetti emoji.

He’d made Tim laugh so hard he snorted milk, once, by referencing emojis. He thought he’d get a kick out of it.

By the amount of laughing smiley faces Tim sent back, he had been successful.

He helped Alfred set everything up for Tim’s celebration later that night. He also sent a message to Dick, reminding him of the small impromptu party. Dick would be over by early afternoon, probably with a ridiculously over-the-top present. Dick was like that.

And when noon rolled around, Bruce stepped out the front door and made his way over to the Drake’s.

It wasn’t a very long walk, but it gave his thoughts time to percolate. He had a hunch. And it never was a good thing when he got a hunch.

As he climbed the steps to their front door, he found himself hoping he was wrong. Bruce was wrong an awful lot, more than most people would probably believe. He’d count himself lucky if this was one of those times.

He rang the doorbell and waited.

A few moments later, the door was opening and there Tim stood, still wearing his pajamas and with disheveled hair. “How can I…” he began, before he realized who was standing before him. He blinked a few times, his brain short-circuiting while Bruce watched.

“Um. Bruce. Um. You’re… here,” he said, his eyes flicking to the sides like a whip.

A sinking feeling grew in Bruce’s stomach.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Tim bit his lip and shuffled on his feet for a just a moment before stepping aside. “Of course! Please, come in.”

Bruce stepped inside and Tim led him to the kitchen. The house was awfully quiet. “Would you like some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”

“I’d love some – thank you.”

As Tim poured them both a mug of coffee – _how much caffeine is that boy consuming?_ Bruce wondered – Bruce looked around the expansive kitchen. It was tastefully decorated with only the highest-quality appliances. They looked pristine… almost like the space was never used.

Tim interrupted his musings by setting the coffee cup down in front of him. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

Bruce blinked in surprise. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

Tim shrugged, sitting across from him with his own mug. “I don’t know. I just… didn’t expect you to come over. Um. I didn’t miss it, did I? We’re celebrating tonight, aren’t we?”

Tim looked genuinely panicked at that. Bruce quickly reassured him: “You haven’t missed anything, Tim. I just wanted to come by and see how you were doing.”

Tim furrowed his brow. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Why wouldn’t he be, indeed. Bruce looked around the empty kitchen once more. He listened to the silent, still house. And then he said, “Tim… where are your parents?”

And Tim’s face went blank.

Bruce Wayne was a man of many masks. He played a cast of characters – Batman, Brucie, Matches, to name a few – and had a new voice, a new face, a new posture for each and every one. In his lifetime, he’d seen very few people able to pull on a new persona quite so quickly and so totally as he could.

Tim Drake was, apparently, an exception to the rule.

“They’re in town running a few errands,” he said, his smile perfectly polite and vacant. “Why do you ask?”

Bruce deliberately relaxed his posture. “Just curious. What are you three doing to celebrate today?”

Another eye flicker. “We’re going out to a nice restaurant this afternoon. I’ll be back in time to come over, though – they said it would be okay.”

“Did they?” Tim’s eyes tightened but his polite society smile didn’t falter. “What restaurant are you going to?”

“The Red Dragon,” said Tim without missing a beat. “It just opened in Gotham a few weeks ago – it’s supposed to be really good.”

Bruce watched him for a beat. “Won’t it be a little difficult?”

Tim’s mask faltered for a moment as his brows drew together. “Difficult?”

“Since they’re still in Egypt as of 4 o’clock this morning.”

Tim froze.

And Bruce waited.

The clock in the kitchen ticked the seconds by. Neither Tim nor Bruce moved as their coffee cooled between them.

Finally, Tim spoke. “How?” His voice was completely flat.

“I did a little research last night,” answered Bruce. “I discovered that they’re still in Egypt. They have been for the past three months, and they don’t plan to return to Gotham until at least November.”

Tim looked away.

“Have you been alone this entire time?”

A moment of silence. Then, Tim whispered, “…yes.”

That was the cue Bruce was waiting for. His mind shifted suddenly into overdrive. He thought of every time he’d sent the boy home after patrol – after countless injuries, bad nights, bad moments. He remembered every time he’d yelled at Tim, told him he wasn’t wanted, and then sent him home to a completely empty house.

He couldn’t seem to stop thinking.

“When was the last time you heard from them?”

Tim, seeming to sense that the jig was up, didn’t bother trying to hide or deflect. “June 6th,” he said. “They sent me an email and let me know they’d be gone longer than they planned.”

“Tim… why didn’t you tell me? That you were here all alone?”

“I’m not alone,” Tim said, his defenses back up. “Mrs. Mac comes by a few times a week to clean. Besides, it’s not like I spend much time here, anyway. I spend a lot of time at the Manor. And I can take care of myself. I’m not a child.”

Tim, thirteen years old with bags under his eyes and coffee clutched in his bony fingers, looking up at Bruce and claiming that he wasn’t a child. Bruce felt a terrible, stabbing pain at his heart.

“How long have they been doing this? Leaving you here for months on end?”

Tim hesitated, but eventually said, “Since I was about eight. That’s when they decided I was old enough to be on my own.”

They left him.

Here, in this big, empty, pristine house. They left a child. A beautiful, brilliant, wonderful child who was capable of hunting down Batman. A child who took amazing photographs, the kind that would win awards one day, if he went down that path. A child with more love and kindness in him than in the rest of the world combined.

And they left him.

And Bruce… Bruce thought of all the nights ahead. Of every bad patrol, every broken bone and hairline fracture and bruise and cut and scrape and, and, and… All the emptiness, all the loneliness, always independent, always alone.

Alone.

Bruce shot to his feet. He was almost as surprised as Tim, who scrambled up after him.

“Pack a bag.”

Tim startled. “What?”

“Pack a bag. You’re coming to stay with us.”

* * *

It had taken more coaxing that he’d like to admit, but Bruce had finally convinced Tim to come with him. Armed with a few changes of clothes and his computer, Tim and Bruce marched across the yard all the way to Wayne Manor.

Alfred met them at the door.

“Ah, Master Tim! You’ve arrived earlier than I expected. I’m afraid I haven’t quite got everything prepared…”

“No worries, Alfie. Bruce asked me to, um. Stay over.”

“Did he?” asked Alfred. He didn’t look surprised. He probably wasn’t. Alfred probably knew what Bruce was doing even before Bruce did.

“I’ll take him up to his room,” said Bruce, steering Tim to the stairs.

“Uh… _my_ room?” asked Tim. Bruce didn’t venture an answer until they’d made their way upstairs and into the guest room where Tim sometimes – rarely – stayed.

“This is your room now,” said Bruce.

“I… I don’t understand.”

Bruce sighed and sat down on the bed, gesturing for Tim to follow suit. Tim set his bag on the floor and settled on the bed, his back ramrod straight.

“I want you to stay here with us,” said Bruce, looking at Tim, who was looking steadfastly at the ground. “I… you shouldn’t be in that big house all alone. It’s not good for you. It’s not good for any growing child. You should be around… people. People who…” Bruce struggled for a moment, his voice too thick to pass through his tight throat. He sighed, and steeled himself. “You should be around people who care about you. And we… Alfred, Dick, and I… we care about you, Tim.”

Tim was looking at him with wide eyes, now. “I… you… want me here?”

Bruce nodded. “I know you can take care of yourself. I know you’re a capable young man. But we’d love to have you here, if you’re willing.”

Tim stared at him for a few beats.

And then his eyes began to brim with tears.

Now it was Bruce’s turn to stiffen in alarm, his hands fluttering at his sides. Crying children – he was _not_ ready to deal with crying children today. Should he hug him? Would that be welcome? Or should he just…

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, feeling about a thousand times more awkward than he had even moments before.

Tim sniffed. “No, you didn’t, I’m not upset, I’m just… you really want me here?”

And God, Bruce wanted to throttled Jack and Janet Drake. Tim was looking at him in total disbelief, like the idea of him being wanted was somehow a miracle, and Bruce was a saint for providing it.

But Bruce couldn’t go after the Drakes and he couldn’t undo their choice to leave Tim alone for all these years. There was very little he could do, except… “Yes, Tim,” Bruce said firmly. “I want you here very much. And so do Alfred and Dick. Please stay?”

Without a second’s more hesitation, Tim threw himself into Bruce’s side, his arms wrapping as far around his torso as he could reach, his face buried in Bruce’s shirt.

And Bruce, though his body felt stiff and unnatural, melted into the instincts he’d honed after years of raising children, and let his arms fall around the boy, tugging him in close.

* * *

Bruce didn’t know it, but that birthday was the best birthday in Tim’s short life.

After their heart-to-heart upstairs, Tim had retreated to Alfred’s domain – Wayne Manor’s clean but well-used kitchen – and insisted on helping with the cake. Alfred was all too happy to have another young pupil to teach, and the two ushered Bruce out of the kitchen so as to ensure nothing spontaneously combusted. Alfred made _sure_ Tim understood that Bruce was only allowed in the kitchen under strict supervision and was _not_ allowed to help cook under any circumstances. Bruce grumbled, but couldn’t help the smile that curled his lips.

Dick came just as the cake went into the oven and hugged Tim for a straight minute before letting the boy wriggle out of his grasp. He spirited Tim off for an impromptu gymnastics lesson in the backyard, where they stayed until both the cake and supper were prepared.

They had roast duck – one of Tim’s favorites – and the conversation was lively. Dick told all his best Batman-and-Robin stories, and Bruce’s dry commentary had Tim laughing so hard he nearly fell off his seat.

The cake – red velvet with buttercream frosting – was perhaps the best thing Tim had ever eaten. God bless Alfred Pennyworth.

When it came time for presents, Dick produced two wrapped packages. The first was a bootleg Batman plushie, which Bruce threatened to burn while the two boys laughed. The second was a pamphlet to Bludhaven’s National Park. “I thought you and I could go together, maybe next weekend? We could even go camping! Betcha we could get Bruce to join us.”

Bruce, who was unable to do anything by halves, gave Tim not one camera lens, but an entire set of lenses, for everything from portrait to landscape photography. Tim’s eyes welled up for the second time that day, but this time he didn’t cry. He did cradle each lens in his hands as he inspected them, a smile splitting his face the whole time.

Later that night, as they sat watching the Fellowship of the Ring – which Tim, to Dick’s dismay, had yet to see – Tim glanced at Bruce across the couch.

“Hey B?” he said.

“Yes, Tim?”

He smiled at Bruce and snuggled deeper into Dick’s side. “Thanks _._ For everything.”

And Bruce, feeling lighter than he had in months, smiled right back.


End file.
